"What hath she been told?" demanded Cristoval, turning to the maid; but the girl, too, was in tears, and incapable of reply. He stepped to Rava’s side. "Ñusta Rava," he said urgently, "pray tell me. Is it anything of evil from Pizarro regarding the Inca? If so—" She shook her head. "No, no!" she replied, brokenly; "but a few evenings ago he beheld a falling star of unusual splendor, and called to mind that shortly before the death of our father a similar sign was given. The death of an Inca is heralded by strange portents, Viracocha." Cristoval was relieved. "Nay, my princess!" he said consolingly, "heed it not. Such signs are but the wiles of the devil—are but chance appearances. I have seen a thousand falling stars. They are for children and old women to talk about at firesides. Oh, I beg of you, restrain your tears! Take courage! Hear me, Ñusta Rava! De Soto and myself and half-a-score of others have witnessed Pizarro’s oath to set your brother free. He awaiteth only assurance that your people are at peace. A few days hence the Inca shall have his liberty. Pizarro is a man of honor." She controlled herself with an effort, and, brushing away her tears, presently looked up. "Forgive my weakness, Viracocha Cristoval. I fear my heart is overburdened. One blow hath fallen upon another until the world is dark." "I know what your sorrows have been," replied Cristoval, kindly, "but I believe one, at least, is near its end." "Oh, I thank you for your words of hope!" she murmured. "I feared that a change in your leader’s purpose had brought my brother’s heaviness of heart. I will try to cheer him." "Do so. Assure him that he hath other friends among Spaniards besides myself. It is true." "He is sure of you, Viracocha Cristoval," she said gratefully. "But now, let me keep you no longer. I heard a trumpet some minutes ago. It called you, did it not?" "It called me, Ñusta Rava." "Then you must go. I pray the Sun may brighten your way and give you safe return." "Farewell, and Heaven guard you, Ñusta Rava!" He touched her fingers with his lips and hastened away. As he passed up the avenue the trumpets were sounding the "Mount," and in his haste he failed to notice a burly figure in the shelter of a by-path. It was Mendoza. He had been waiting Pizarro’s return from seeing the departure of De Soto’s troop, and, presuming upon the commander’s determination to make away with the Inca, whom Mendoza already considered as good as dead, he had invaded the forbidden precincts of the garden. Perceiving Cristoval and the Princess Rava, he had stepped unobserved into the shrubbery, and watched the interview with a scowling sneer.